Persuade
by Like A Thief In The Night
Summary: Drabble. Even when he hates him, it’s still love. Whether the man loves him back or not. SLASH. OWxMF.


**Title: **Persuade

**Summary:** Drabble. Even when he hates him, it's still love. Whether the man loves him back or not. SLASH. OWxMF.

**Rating:** M

**Warning: **Slight lemon, not really that graphic. And it's boyxboy... basically two men together in an intimate relationship. Don't like? Then don't waste your time by reading the damn thing and then whining to me about how you hate it. Kay?

* * *

He was woken rather rudely (though he didn't mind to much) by a sharp pinch in his side anda kiss from his lover's lips. With a smirk he opens his dark brown eyes and there's that dark, cruel, smile again, perfectly conspicuous in the corner of the man's mouth. He was happy as it bloomed into a grin.

Propping himself up on his elbows, Oliver raises his hand and surveys Flint who's just watching him with near-black eyes, curious and far too lazy to sit up as well. He watches sunbeams glide along his lover's skin; golden warmth envoloping the slytherins pale skin and his eyes travel up to the dark grey curtains of their bedroom. He sits up properly and winces, a tiny sheepish smile forms on his lips as the action draws a laugh from his deep-voiced boyfriend.

That's what it was like when they love each other.

When they fight, it's loud. Like World War Three on the horizon. Furniture crashes and after they always need to go shopping after because lots of plates get broken.

"You can't tell me to fuck off just because you think you're bored!" He yells and throws the already broken plate to the floor, blood dripping from a cut on his hand. "You're so full of yourself! I fucking hate you!"

Flint just stands there, cool and quiet, watching as Wood winces in pain and looks down at his bleeding fist.

It hurts .

It hurts a lot and with a strangled cry he staggers to the bathroom, Flint quietly following behind, a small smirk on his lips. He loves it when Olivr gets angry.

--

Oliver tries, in vain, to wrap it by himself but fails. Flint watches from the doorway, an eyebrow raised. "Wood, tell me when your done being an idiot, huh?"

Oliver throws him a venomous look and goes to the sink, to clean off the blood. The cold water stings a bit and he inhales his breath sharply, feeling his eyes water. "I really fucking hate you at times, Marcus!"

With his back turned he doesn't notice the flicker of hurt that passes over Flints face. Then again maybe he deserved it. He had after all, been trying to anger the scotsman in the first place, by suggesting to leave.

When Oliver turns round again, Flint's right behind him, pushing their bodies close together. The sink digs into his back and he hears a low growl as the older boys lips hover over his throat. "I dare you to say that one more time, Wood."

He lets out a choked up moan, feeling Flint rub against him and gently cradles his fist, lips searching for the sweet spots on the scottish boys neck. All Oliver can do is hope the sink can hold his weight for a little while.

It's only when they're in the midst of their session that Flint can find it in himself to whisper, in a husky voice. "I'm sorry..." he doesn't get a reaction, but he knows Oliver's heard it; just that at this moment he doesn't care.

He makes the scottish boy cry out in rapture with a sharp thrust that hits just the right place inside. Oliver clings to Flint and whispers a thousand sincere 'I love you's's, even though he knows he won't get the reply he wants.

Suddenly, the mood changes, Oliver whimpers in obvious pain as Flint begins to barrel into him, angrily. He yanks at Flint's hair in retaliation. Even when they're fucking they're fighting. It's just the way they are. The older man bites Oliver's neck, leaving dark, juicy marks on his fair skin. The bathroom fills with the sounds of their grunts and moans as the sex grows more urgent and needy; the slap of skin on skin gets louder. Oliver's the first to come, covering his lovers chest with hot, sticky liquid. Flint follows with a low, animalistic growl; waves of pleasure coursing through him as Oliver slumps, dejectedly, head on his shoulder.  
He grins breathlessly and kisses Olivers cheek whilst stepping back, just about catching the usually strong scotsman as his knees buckle and he almost falls to the floor. The sink did him more bad than good.

With Flint's help he limps to the bedroom and allows the dark-haired man to pull him down, nestling between his lovers arms and forgetting the dull throb in his back and hand and the argument before. "You're not gonna leave me, then?" he frowns after a few minutes of silence

.  
"No." Flint whispers. "I'm sorry for saying that."  
He's afraid to lose Oliver. Not that he'd say that because he's not a very emotional type; he'd die if Oliver knew how much he'd miss the man if he was gone. They were meant to fuck not fall in love!  
And Oliver doesn't mind if he's hurt. Or humilated. Or if Flint mocks him or doesnt say "I love you, too" during sex.

It's the soft, quieter moments, like these; where he can almost believe the slytherin loves him, that count. These moments that persuade him to stay.

* * *

**Yeah.... little Oliver/Marcus drabble there. Maybe it's just me that likes this pairing, haha. Anyways reviews appreciated, no flames, because... well only sad people flame. It's the really clever ones that can constructively criticise :P**

**I hope you liked it, anyways.**


End file.
